


Wild Things

by BSparrow



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSparrow/pseuds/BSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a wild thing and he had no desire to tame her or tie her down. Written for TheCarylDaily's Marry Me Contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Things

To his figuring, it had been about two years – two years since the prison fell, two years since he'd found her (or rather, she'd found him) striding down those railroad tracks like some kind of Amazonian warrior with Lil Asskicker on her hip.

It had been about two years since she'd planted a kiss on him that made him weak in the knees.

A lot had changed in those two years. They'd lost and they'd gained. Even with the dead walking, the earth kept on turning and the sun kept on rising.

In fact, it was rising now outside the stained glass window of the crumbling church they'd been staying in for the last few months. The place was safe enough, surrounded as it was by old stone walls that would need reinforcing. But it wasn't the prison. Nothing would ever be the prison again.

It was a quiet morning. Everyone moved slowly, still drowsy and longing for the warmth of their beds – everyone except for her. The first thing he saw was her, striding through the front door with the golden sun at her back. She had her knife on her hip and a pile of laundry that needed mending in her arms.

She smiled when she saw him there, holding his gaze as she sat down in the light from the doorway.

He felt the pull towards her, as he always did, like there was a string tying them together and she was yanking on it. She would, too, if she had him on a leash. He'd come to realize that Carol Peletier was quite the hand full – and he enjoyed every moment of it.

He didn't like to spend too much time thinking about his reaction to her. It wasn't his nature to wax lyrical about the way his heartbeat picked up speed when she smiled at him or the way his stomach flopped around like a fish on a line when their fingertips touched.

But he was aware of it and he was damn sure that she was too.

Her eyes finally left his as she glanced down at the torn shirt in her hands. It was his shirt, of course.

It was that little sign, that stupid, meaningless little omen, that told him today was the day. He sucked in a deep breath and told himself it was now or never.

"Going hunting," he muttered, mostly just for her benefit, as he walked across the sanctuary. He stopped in front of her and hoisted his bow over his shoulder, trying to ignore the almost painful pounding of his heart, "You coming?"

She looked up as his shadow fell across her face, blue eyes going wide and lips parting. He cleared his throat, offering her his hand, and after a moment, she smiled. She took it, her hand warm in his as he pulled her to her feet, and he held onto it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. He told himself it was to make sure she had her balance but he was pretty sure they both knew it was really so he could run his calloused thumb over the pulse in her wrist.

She followed him out into the dawning morning without a word, her arm bumping his as they walked side by side into the tree line.

It was darker there, and damp. Their steps were silent as they melted into the woods, moving as one.

She took out the first walker before he even saw it, plunging her knife into its soft skull without hesitation, and wiping her hands clean on his handkerchief when he offered it.

As they moved on, his thoughts returned to what was ahead of them. He had to admit that he'd thought it was a waste of damn time when Glenn and Maggie had decided to get hitched. They hadn't made much of a fuss over it, but at the time he hadn't understood why anyone in their right mind would want to get married while dead people were around every corner, howling for their flesh.

Now, with Carol by his side, he got it.

As if reading his mind, she looked over at him and smiled, clambering over a fallen tree with the grace of a panther.

He knew she'd worn a man's ring before and he wasn't sure she was eager to do it again. She was a wild thing and he had no desire to tame her or tie her down. She deserved to be free. He just wanted to make sure it was him she flew home to at the end of the day.

The sun was high overhead by the time they stepped out into a clearing. Soft white light filtered through the green canopy around them, dancing across the forest floor as the wind swayed the leaves.

He turned to face her and she just looked at him expectantly.

"So you want to do this or not?" he finally asked, eyes darting up to hers and then away again.

"Do what?" she asked, turning to look at the clearing and then back at him with raised brows. "Are you asking me to have sex right now?"

"No," he told her gruffly, his face suddenly hot. "No, that ain't what I'm asking."

He couldn't say that sounded _bad_ though.

"Well, what _are_ you asking?" she asked, tilting her face up to his and wearing that smile that made his stomach do fucking cartwheels.

He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

"I'm asking," he began and stopped to clear his throat when his voice came out hoarse. Now or never, he told himself again, and she was waiting patiently, still smiling up at him. "I'm asking if you wanna be my wife."

And then it was out there, hanging heavy in the silence between them. Some desperate part of him wanted to take it back, wanted to reach up and drag it out of the air.

But he didn't. He left it there, feeling more naked and exposed than he'd ever felt before; more naked than he'd felt the first time she peeled his shirt off and ran her fingers over his mess of a back.

But she just raised her brows, hands on her hips.

"I thought I already was," she told him, that devilish little grin of hers dancing across on her face. "The kids have been calling me Mrs. Dixon since the prison."

He knew he was gaping at her like an idiot but she just threw her head back and laughed. It made him stand up straighter; he loved that laugh. It was the one she only laughed around him – a real, dirty laugh that hinted at a whole other side of her; one he knew only he'd seen.

As the sound faded, bouncing off through the trees with wild abandon, she looked at him again and he held his breath.

"I'd be proud to have you as my husband, Daryl Dixon."

She might as well have socked him in the gut. He didn't know what he'd been expecting but he hadn't thought it would be that easy. It was the first thing in his life worth having that hadn't been painful, that hadn't hurt.

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching her face and finding nothing there but love, "Yeah?"

She nodded and her smile widened until it was brighter than the sun over their heads, "Yeah."

He reached for her, pulling her against him just to feel her warmth. He wanted to reassure himself that it wasn't all a dream, that it was actually _her_ under his hands. Her eyes were shining like she was going to cry and he looked away before he could drown in all that blue, his fingers tightening on her waist.

"Ain't got a ring," he told her.

"I don't need one," she murmured, threading her fingers through his hair and dragging him down until his lips nearly touched hers. "I've got you, Pookie. That's all I need."

And then, like it was two years ago on those railroad tracks, she planted a kiss on him that made him weak in the knees.


End file.
